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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771388">the excruciating journey to falling in love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/10redplums/pseuds/10redplums'>10redplums</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dragons campaign [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons &amp; Dragons - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Brief transphobia, Internalized racism, M/M, Oblivious Gay, Pre-Relationship, aftermath of canon-typical violation of bodily autonomy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:22:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/10redplums/pseuds/10redplums</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>player character/npc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>dragons campaign [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Banned Together Bingo 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the excruciating journey to falling in love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the span of time it takes for Armand’s blood to cool the motley band of them are summoned to speak, in Waterdeep, in front of an assembly of enough people to make Armand’s head spin. Butler handles it with sufficient aplomb, probably pleasing the people with his politeness. Lessons beaten into Armand as a child surface and grab him by the neck and he manages to speak, somehow, and remember most of the names. He hopes Paladin Frume will be amenable to questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There the Emerald Enclave, and he sees Snow straighten a fraction of an inch and consider them. There the Harpers, and he sees Butler straighten </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> and respond as if to a particularly beloved master. There well-meaning benefactors who smile too much. There the Order of the Gauntlet, with old men bearing the symbol of Bahamut at the front, who incline their heads less than a fraction of an inch when they are introduced and then murmur to themselves and look at their group with a look Armand knows too well. There the arguments. There the dogma. There the shouting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silverhand. Neverember. Sir Isteval the dragonslayer, and Armand doesn’t miss the way the paladins guarding the order sit up almost as much as Butler does, doesn’t miss how the murmurs turn approving, when the imposing figure stands and bows, all white-and-gold armor and burgundy cape. The memory of books on his head and his own twisted spite keep him from slouching out of contrariness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Order calls him to stand in front of their seats after the meeting, when all the information has been presented and they’ve been handed Authority, and have him stand there as they assess him. He knows how they look at him, at his gold-brown skin, his narrow eyes, his tusks. He sees them eye the long hair, the myriad piercings. The neat, carefully-layered clothing. Half-orc, and a- he keeps his face polite as they try to decide if he’s a man or a particularly unpleasant woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am Armand,” he says, vowels carefully shaped, voice smooth. “I serve the Order of the Gauntlet as a priest of Sehanine. I am known to Paladin Frume.” He watches them come to a decision. Back straight, eyes neutral. Perfectly acceptable in polite society.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s no shining human knight, he knows, and what a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tragedy</span>
  </em>
  <span> that is. What a tragedy. But he’s what they have, and the thought warms him as they dismiss him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval is there with the others, when Armand returns, shaking hands and being friendly and introducing himself, as if he hadn’t already been announced earlier, shining in the sun in all his regalia. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the shining knight the Order wants. Armand resigns himself to playing nice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finishes talking to Snow as Armand arrives and turns to him, smoothly hiding his startle. Sir Isteval takes Armand’s hand in both of his, smiling, and introduces himself. His hands are big, and he- he </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Armand, in a way Armand’s never mastered. Armand lets the lessons take over in self-defense and there’s a moment, again, where Sir Isteval looks at him, and then he’s moving on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The house they live in is not safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The house they live in is not safe. Butler stands over the smoking crater in their foyer as Armand races out, following Snow’s voice. They need to find the others. Need to- nobody is allowed to die.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the aftermath of the attack Butler’s Master Nerevar gives them guards, knights in black armor that immediately set Armand’s teeth on edge. It rankles, to be guarded by the undead. In the loss of the illusion of safety and this new offense, well-meant though it may be, Armand wants to scream. To smash the knights and their stupid black plate and their stench of death. He bites his tongue and is grateful for the security. He’s more grateful, still, perversely, to be on the road again and away from that. To be attacked by good, honest bandits. He has to laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s aware of the hypocrisy of cursing the people who attacked their house in the night while planning an infiltration-and-kidnapping through a cult branch’s sanctum. He justifies it with nobody-will-be-killed-ideally. He justifies it with that they have no soldiers to send to die for them. He justifies it with the sun’s burning eye, high in the sky and allowing no secrets. Butler justifies it much more simply, with that the cult is evil and intends evil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They send Snow in to chat and distract the innkeeper downstairs as they find the cult head upstairs, and then scramble to keep hold of the conversation. A few people die. They leave more unconscious. They get the cult head. Through the red haze that overtakes Armand’s senses at the ghouls in the back room Snow is trying to fend off with their sword he hears Butler find an entrance to a lower room. The ghouls</span>
  <em>
    <span> burn. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fight and kill a fish-snake-demon thing. Afhn tries to swim in a pool of what turns out to be poison, and then steel-and-wood Butler goes instead, and they pull up some treasure. In the aftermath of the attack the city guard arrives and prepares to take away the cultists. A gaggle of onlookers starts to form; Afhn retreats into what shadows he can, Snow lingers by Butler’s and Agni’s shoulders, and Armand withdraws and lets them take the limelight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the guard wraps up and prepares to take them away there’s a small hush, and the crowd parts for Sir Isteval to come up to them, and Armand remembers this is happening in Daggerford. Maybe they’ll have time for Butler to sample the local delicacies later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heroes,” he says, coming up to shake Butler’s hand, cape fluttering in the breeze, and the murmur strikes up again and Armand wishes he had said </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally anything else,</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I heard what happened. I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner.” Oh dear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My lord Sir Isteval,” Butler says, because of course. “It was our honor to thwart the plans of the cult in your fair city.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It goes on for a while. Afhn and Agni slink off, in different directions. Butler and Sir Isteval exchange pleasantries and thanks and praise, and- Armand watches him eye the cultist Butler still has draped over one shoulder like a sack and realizes he’s uneasy. His eyes and the discussion shift to the false inn and the demon in the cellar as the guard shoo people away and it’s back to just them and Sir Isteval’s retinue on the street, and something clicks. The attack on their house. The cultists here. It’s the same, on different scales. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He keeps his hands still. He knows who he is. Holding his mace to fidget now, as he thinks of what to say, will just scare people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval notices him staring and smiles, and when his conversation with Butler draws to a natural close he excuses himself, thanking Snow and Butler again. The two of them look at Armand, who shrugs, and they start to head back out the city the way they came, Butler with his cargo and Snow to find Agni and Afhn. Sir Isteval goes to Armand, and he meets him halfway. Where does he put his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Master Armand,” Sir Isteval says, nodding at him. Armand leaves his hands clasped down in front of him. Sir Isteval is about as tall as he is, which is- something. “Thank you, as well. I hear there were undead in there, among other things.” His nose, which Armand’s seen on many sculptures of the Order’s champions, wrinkles at the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>undead.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Armand nods in commiseration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You may rest assured they have been taken care of, Sir Isteval,” he says. “As has the demon.” He sees the frown deepen at the mention of the demon, and resists the urge to sigh. “There is a cave underneath with a poisoned pool, which will need more time and attention. If you will give me time to research, I can deal with it; it all shouldn’t take more than a fortnight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no need,” Sir Isteval says, smiling again. It suits him. “Though I appreciate the offer. But I thank you, again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand nods, too, and then- twists his fingers together, unable to resist the need to fidget. “I’m sorry about- that there were cultists here,” he says, subconsciously straightening. “And that it got that bad. We’re- doing our best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval’s smile does a complicated thing without seeming to move at all, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I know you are,” he says. “I thank you for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Armand says. It’s not enough. “We- were attacked in our house- our home recently as well. In Waterdeep. That is to say,” fuck, “the feeling of a place you thought you could trust being breached. It’s terrible, and you are within your rights to be upset about it. And you are free to request our aid in dealing with it.” He nods, satisfied. Sir Isteval looks at him, and then looks at him again, and then- he laughs. It’s bright as everything else about the champion himself, and Armand waits until it subsides and allows it, a little stiffly, as Sir Isteval claps a hand on his shoulder. There’s no mockery in the laugh, only surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have been spending this conversation thanking you, Master Armand,” Sir Isteval says, as the hot sun beats down on them and warms their skin, “and I have to thank you again. For the offer, and the reassurance.” He squeezes Armand’s shoulder and his gloved thumb brushes against the skin of Armand’s neck, still delicate where his healing had been haphazard, and he frowns and turns his attention to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I?” Sir Isteval says. Armand nods and turns his head to the side to expose the wound, face twitching at the stretch. He puts his hand there and there’s a bloom of brazen warmth, and when he removes his hand Armand tests the skin and finds it’s totally healed. His surprise must show on his face, because Sir Isteval chuckles again. One of his retinue clears their throat and he startles, and takes a half step back out of Armand’s space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thank you as well, Sir Isteval,” he says, bowing as low as a lord of Sir Isteval’s station deserves and no lower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You take care of yourself, Master Armand,” Sir Isteval says, bowing back, and then he takes his leave. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Sea of Moving Ice is beautiful, but after the fight with the white dragon Armand is glad to be back for now in the warmth and dirt of the city. Afhn and Agni, for once, head straight for their rooms. Armand watches them go. It was probably hardest on both of them. Afhn, in particular, got chewed up pretty hard. But they’ve healed up as much as they can, and if Armand’s body serves as a conduit for any more divinity he feels like it’ll shatter into a thousand moonbeams, so here they are. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snow and Butler leave to shop, Snow for more supplies, Butler for more ingredients. Armand stands in the foyer, sluggish brain trying to decide on a course of action. In the end, he sleeps like the dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval arrives the next morning, several days before the council is set to convene, as usual with a retinue. Armand wonders if people see them as Butler’s retinue. Most days he doesn’t wear his face anyway, so that’s fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s- a social call. Afhn had already left for parts unknown, and Snow vanishes like a shadow on a moonless night, but Butler is eager to chat with the champion of Lathander and Agni is eager to match prowess with the dragonslayer, and Sir Isteval catches Armand’s eye and pins him in place and so Armand must stay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They talk. Butler regales Sir Isteval with the tale of their fight against the white dragon and the various other nasty things in its lair, highlighting the valiant frog men serving the dragon and helping them, Butler’s own attempts to trap the dragon and make it stay and fight, and how Afhn’s eyes and hands on its hoard made it focus on him in particular. Armand makes eye contact with Sir Isteval’s accompanying advisor, Evelyn, and the two of them communicate with raised and lowered eyebrows what they think of the sections of the tale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to duel, Sir Isteval? Test my strength against yours?” Agni says, eventually, and Evelyn and Armand close their eyes. Sir Isteval is smiling, a sparkle in his eye, and he nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like that,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their house has a training ring, which Butler excitedly leads the way to. Agni and Sir Isteval chat as they walk, comparing techniques, and Evelyn holds Sir Isteval’s sword angled so Armand can look at it. Sir Isteval takes his sword and leaves his cape with Evelyn, and the two combatants make their way to the center of the ring. Agni draws Hazirawn; Sir Isteval shines like the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Agni thought Sir Isteval’s old wound would be a handicap he is quickly disabused of the notion; Sir Isteval draws his sword and shines even brighter, and waits. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His armor takes what his sword and shield can't parry as he weathers Agni’s assault, getting the measure of him, and he lands several solid shining blows Armand sees shake Agni before he dances back out of Sir Isteval’s reach. Sees Agni reassess. Sees Sir Isteval grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sees Sir Isteval press his advantage, now, sending Agni staggering back under the inexorable force of him, and then Agni </span>
  <em>
    <span>throws a stream of fire in his face</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Armand can’t watch, can’t look away, they’ve killed the Order of the Gauntlet’s pillar of gold, how are they going to explain this to the council, how is he going to explain this to Paladin Frume-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sees Sir Isteval rip off his glowing helmet and toss it aside and </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep going</span>
  </em>
  <span>, blazing bright, and then it’s over and Agni is on the floor. The heat dissipates; he must have lost consciousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good match, Master Agni,” he says, kneeling, reaching out with his shining hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t-” ah, too late. Sir Isteval, noble fighter that he is, gets Agni back among the waking with a gesture that fills the room with warmth even as Armand skids onto his knees beside him. He attends to himself next, the burns on his skin fading, and he gives Armand a sheepish little grin as his skin is left a little pink. Armand resists the urge to roll his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you would like to duel me next, Sir Isteval?” Butler says, coming forward from the side. “I have heard tales of your prowess and I must confess, after seeing you fight Agni I find myself eager to try.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I swear we’re not trying to kill you,” Armand says under his breath and Sir Isteval looks at him with raised eyebrows and broad grin, as if learning something new. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would be delighted to,” Sir Isteval says, and winces as he gets up. Armand does roll his eyes now and pulls Agni up, throwing the moon into the ceiling and bathing them in its cool light. He gets Agni back into peak condition and then grabs Sir Isteval’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come here,” he says, barely hiding exasperation, and Sir Isteval meekly turns to him away from the little moon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a neat trick,” he says, and Armand nods to acknowledge him. “Maybe you could show me how you did it sometime?” He nods again, focused on his assessment; the armor is cool against his skin as he checks Sir Isteval over. Skin still shiny with half-healed burns. A bruise on his arm where Agni did manage to land a hit, the shadow of Hazirawn’s magic still lingering. Little aches where he took the hits on his armor. It’s a comfort to know that Agni can dish out some damage, and more of a comfort to know it seems Sir Isteval is taking all of this with good grace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moon’s light sweeps over Sir Isteval and then again through him for good measure. “Good as new,” Armand says, giving him a smile and a pat on the shoulder as directed by the memory of Senior Reverend Hermann, who’d seen what Armand’s face looked like when he concentrated and had been rightly worried for his patients, and Sir Isteval smiles back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Sir Isteval says, covering Armand’s hand on his shoulder with his own, “I don’t think I’ve quite appreciated the moon’s beauty before.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand looks at him, blinking slowly. “There are- good sites for viewing it, in the city. I can- give you recommendations later.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval nods again and gives him a smile, and Armand politely waits for him to remove his hand so he can step away. Sir Isteval’s hand twitches around his for a second before he puts it down, and Armand bows and heads for the border of the ring. Butler is already tapping his foot, lightning katana at the ready. Evelyn smiles at him, as he sits down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Butler is ferocious where Agni is unpredictable, and Armand finds every muscle in his body locked. He watches Sir Isteval brace himself as Butler attacks, the metal of Butler’s body groaning under the strain of its own fervor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you no faith in your Order’s champion, Master Armand?” Evelyn says, wry amusement in their voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No man I have found worthy of my faith, Master Evelyn,” Armand says, eyes still locked on the fight. “Begging your pardon.” Sir Isteval screams as Butler sends electricity coursing through him, and then Armand wipes the blood drawn from his palms as Sir Isteval shakes it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do your priests have vows of celibacy, Master Armand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Lady Sehanine wishes for us to act freely, Master Evelyn.” Sir Isteval sends Butler careening across the ring and crashing through a rack of weapons with a mighty shove. Armand breathes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. Do you enjoy the attention of men, Master Armand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I would like to keep my attention on two men in particular right now, Master Evelyn,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Armand says, voice going a little high. He hears them laugh. On the field he sees Butler’s body release pressure as he loses his grip on his fervor, and then he flexes again and there’s a hiss of steam. Lightning crackles down his sword. Across him, Armand sees Sir Isteval’s broad chest heave with his deeper breaths. Sees them clash again and again, but for every inch Sir Isteval loses the ground rocks under the blows Butler takes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To the world outside of the church of Sehanine Armand is not an appealing man. Unattractive, even for a half-orc, and the grimness of his resting face is compounded when he opens his mouth. And too odd, too focused on his duty besides, no matter how his mother’s tutors had tried. No, he knows his place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you find my liege handsome, Master Armand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Master Evelyn!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’d I miss?” Snow says, startling Armand from his careful count and sitting down beside him on the bench. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re just about done,” Armand says, gesturing at the two. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should’ve seen Sir Isteval!” Agni adds, scooting closer to Snow, and winds up to tell them all about it. Snow’s attention sufficiently attended to, Armand returns to the fight. Sir Isteval swings again, sword blazing, and then it’s all over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The moon is already rising from Armand’s hand by the time he gets to them. He attends to Butler’s prone form first, cursing him and Sir Isteval in his mind for going all out and cursing himself for letting this happen. The moon’s cool eye shines down, granting him focus as he goes through the motions and then some. Butler will be fine. Butler will be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re bleeding,” Sir Isteval says, both of them on their knees in the dust, looking up at him with slightly unfocused eyes as Armand runs professional hands over his scalp. He’s leaving smears. Sir Isteval will have to wash his hair later, though it’s dark enough that it doesn’t show. It will feel disgusting. Sir Isteval puts a hand on Armand’s cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have a concussion,” Armand says, regaining his iron grip as the moon flickers. “But your body’s gone through all the divinity it can handle. You’ll need a full night’s rest before you can think of smiting anything again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, anything you say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On second thought, you might be concussed after all.” Armand plunges deeper into the ocean of Sehanine’s love and pours her healing light into the Order’s champion and feels the rhythm of his heart steady. Feels the char be removed from his body. “Focus on my voice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Missed you when you were on the sea of moving ice.” Armand frowns and peers into his eyes. Curses Butler for the lightning katana. Curses Sir Isteval for his overconfidence. Curses the Order for placing the honor, the burden, the weight of a million people’s faith on one man’s shoulders. Feels the chill in his bones as he plunges deeper into that ocean and curses himself, curses himself, curses himself. “Master Armand. Master Armand, stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval pushes him away gently and he gasps, rocking back onto his heels. He feels- scoured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Master Armand,” Sir Isteval is saying. “I’m fine. I thank you for your concern.” Sir Isteval’s hands are on his shoulders. Sir Isteval is looking at him, worry in his eyes. Armand resurfaces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am- also fine, Sir Isteval,” Armand says. “Thank you. I- lost focus. It will not happen again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should hope not,” he says, looking them over again. His gaze scours them in a different way and Armand has to- has to leave. Has to move. Sir Isteval stands and helps Butler up, and then Armand lets Sir Isteval pull him up from the dust, lets Sir Isteval grip his arms with his large hands until he can stand on his own feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cool, dry, half-familiar voice of an advisor Armand had once shaken hands with sounds in his head, and he startles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My liege Sir Isteval wishes to know if you’ve received the flowers, and expresses his relief to know you have returned safely. You may reply.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah. The flowers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The enormous bouquet that had been on their foyer table that morning, huge blooms of white and purple and gold, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wrapped in pretty patterned white paper. There had been a card. There had been a letter. It had looked so delicate in his large hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There had been concern, and relief, and an apology for not appearing in person as if any of them expected him to drop his duties and see how they were. Sir Isteval is- Sir Isteval. Hero, dragonslayer, champion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrambles for the words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you for the flowers- they’re lovely. Thank you also for your concern, we’re all back and safe and that’s what counts, despite the dragon’s-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” fuck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>My liege Sir Isteval wishes to know if there’s anything you require. Medical assistance, physical or psychological. Any additional help during recovery. You may reply.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, uh-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” shit, does that count?- “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please tell him we appreciate the offer, but- he- doesn’t need to trouble himself.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Nailed it. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We just need to lie down for a while.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please thank him for his concern-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” shit, he’d said that already- “</span>
  <em>
    <span>and his sympathy. And his flowers.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Shit, shit, shit- “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re- fine. We’re going to be fine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a pause, and then- “</span>
  <em>
    <span>My liege wishes to know if you, specifically, wish to speak about your ordeal. He has some experience in almost being killed by dragons himself.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snow’s put the flowers in water, and Armand’s taken some to press. They’re drying right now. In the afternoon, maybe, he’ll buy some yarn to recreate the bouquet. It really is very pretty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snow had caught him and Afhn up on the events, after Armand had apologized for being less than useless in the fight. How the dragon had bargained for the mask with their lives. How Butler had chosen the fate of the world over them. How Snow had saved them from death via hitting the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I swore I’d never abandon packmates, so no thanks necessary.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s touched by Snow’s admission, but he understands Butler’s choice. In the nights that had immediately followed he’d lain awake thinking about what choice he would make in their place. He- has to figure out if </span>
  <em>
    <span>Raise Dead </span>
  </em>
  <span>can bring someone back from a splatter. Probably not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders, if he survives the final battle, if he’ll be able to live with the things he’ll do there. He’s already- he can’t shake the feeling he’s spitting at his goddess’s feet, though she’s allowed it for the purposes of saving- of saving people from the tyranny of the dragon queen. He wonders if any of them will die, and if he can save them who he’s saving them for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Who are they to you, my Armand? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d given her an answer to that. It’s not one he knows his team would like. It’s one he knows the Order wouldn’t like. But his goddess had asked, and there had been only one answer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk to Sir Isteval about it, actually. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s only been a day since they’ve returned. He hasn’t had time to go home yet, hasn’t had time to go up the observation tower. Wonders if he’d make it up. Imagines throwing himself off, to feel himself fly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He imagines, briefly, crying into Sir Isteval’s broad shoulders about- nearly getting killed by a dragon, and not even being conscious enough for last words. Crying about the weight of this responsibility. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sir Isteval,</span>
  </em>
  <span> hero, dragonslayer, champion. It’s good for a laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Sir Isteval is there again the next day, early as always for the assembly. Armand is about to step out and he opens the door and Sir Isteval is there, poised to knock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Armand says. “Good morning, Sir Isteval.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Master Armand,” he says with a smile. He’s not in his plate armor today and it feels like Armand missed a stair going down, but here he is. “It’s good to see you’re well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y- yes,” Armand says. “You’re… alone today,” he adds, astutely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says. “Yes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you here for Butler? Or Agni? Agni’s out, but I think Butler’s still here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” he says. “I- were you going out?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand, with his sun hat, and his parasol, and his bag arranged over his shoulder, looks at him and nods. “I was,” he says. “Would you like to come in? Who were you looking for?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can accompany you,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can- Butler will be-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Master Armand,” Sir Isteval says. “May I accompany you?” Oh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval stands aside and lets him through the door, and Armand locks up after himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was going to buy some yarn,” Armand says, checking the door is secure. “Maybe some fabric.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sew?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little,” Armand says. They pass through the front gate together, one of Nerevar’s knights waving them through. “Is that a surprise? We are taught- the basics. Some of us pursue it further.” Sir Isteval hums thoughtfully, and nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s admirable,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They keep a leisurely pace through the streets, Sir Isteval’s cane keeping time between them. It’s a fine day. Armand’s parasol is unnecessary for now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>High above them there are birds singing in the eaves. All around them people pass, on their way to their own destinations. Armand turns a few heads, as he always does, but Sir Isteval attracts more than a few lingering looks much friendlier than the kind Armand gets. Sir Isteval seems not to notice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Sir Isteval says, after a long enough interlude, “in all the excitement, I never asked you where the best sites for viewing the moon were.” Oh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I-” he looks at Sir Isteval, who is smiling at him guilelessly. He turns back to the path. “I- the Church of the Lonely Mother has observation rooms, of course. Some of them are open to the public, but if you want to use one arrangements will have to be made.” He gestures in the general direction. “There are several parks, as well, some better than others. And several parts along the harbor are lovely, gossip has it. Fairly popular date sites.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe you could show me sometime.” Armand turns a corner, gesturing for Sir Isteval to follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The moon is almost new so you’re a little out of luck right now, Sir Isteval, I’m sorry,” Armand says. Ah. There it is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds the door open for Sir Isteval but really only has eyes now for the skeins of yarn, hands already itching to run over the fibers and possibly purchase another set of hooks to work on new projects. He’s already done with Butler’s, the crossed tools of Onatar on a field dark gray as new steel with a shock of lightning coursing through, and his own, silver and white as befits a priest of Sehanine. The others… Gold coins falling into heaps around his feet for Afhn. Snow’s will be his most ambitious yet, a tapestry of his victories though given Armand’s level of proficiency and the looming threat of the Well of Dragons he </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to spend many sleepless nights on it. He has the pure-white base of it. He just. Needs to embroider so many things. So many things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His nose twitches briefly as he thinks of the state of Agni’s soul, but it would still be a kindness… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s picked up the materials for those and moved on to looking for colors that match the flowers exactly when he hears Sir Isteval make a choking noise and he whirls, hands already reaching into the ocean of Sehanine’s power, but aside from being rather pink in the face he seems fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You- you brought them with you,” he says. Armand looks down at the spray of lilacs in his hand, at the white rose and the sunflower in the bag. The filler flowers he left at home; he can match them with the main three. It’ll be fine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Armand says, still watching him in case something happens. “I wanted to get the colors accurate.” Sir Isteval calms down, which is a relief, and he clears his throat and gestures vaguely at Armand to continue. He watches Sir Isteval for a little longer, and then turns back to the yarns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You- you liked them, then?” Sir Isteval is lucky Armand only needs his eyes to match the colors and not much of his brain. He plucks out a ball of purple, deems it satisfactory, and drops two in the basket. The sunflower next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re beautiful,” Armand says, looking at the shades of yellow. So many flowers, so little time. It’s true enough. Maybe he’ll sing as he works on them. Maybe he’ll stop thinking of his and Afhn’s bodies hanging from a dragon’s claws.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m- glad,” Sir Isteval says. Armand nods. “If- you don’t mind my asking, what are the other things for? I saw you get colors that weren’t in the bouquet, and rather a lot of fabric?” Gold for Afhn, deep red for Agni, and a rainbow of threads for Snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shrouds,” Armand says, turning to him and automatically sizing him up. He’d need a lot of fabric for Sir Isteval but every inch would be worth it- he closes his eyes and turns away. No.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes again Sir Isteval is looking at him with something soft in his eyes and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> is- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Senior Reverend Hermann says it’s not a topic many people like to think about,” Armand says, and Sir Isteval laughs a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would say he’s right,” he says, and Armand shrugs but accepts this. It’s a thing he’s been taught. But he has the colors for the sunflowers and the roses, now, and when a spool of silk ribbon perhaps too red a purple for the arrangement catches his eye he considers it, and takes that too. He’ll think about what it reminds him of later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alexandra is watching the store today and she greets him warmly, cooing over the sprigs of lavender and the white chrysanthemum that had given him grief, and startling and rushing to bow when she sees Sir Isteval. Her head barely misses the counter, and Armand is saved another healing. She frantically gestures to him with her eyes at Armand, as if Sir Isteval isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Armand nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He wanted to come along,” Armand says, pretending to sound put-upon, and grins at him to show he’s not unappreciative. Alexandra slaps a hand down and gently clutches at the counter, her horns nearly slamming into the wood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted to come along-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She shakes her head, and gives him the total.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She seemed like a nice young woman,” Sir Isteval says, and Armand laughs. Sir Isteval is beaming at him, eyebrows raised, when he stops.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is,” Armand says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sun is high in the sky as they come out, and Armand opens the parasol and holds it over both of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you have nowhere else to be, Master Armand, I know a good restaurant I’d like to take you to for lunch,” Sir Isteval says, standing in the shade, putting a hand on Armand’s. “I’d- My offer still stands. If you would like to talk about your experiences, I’d like to listen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at him, at this man who has inserted himself into Armand’s day and- he sighs and closes his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I appreciate the offer, Sir Isteval,” he says, finally. “I will- consider. Taking you up on it.” Sir Isteval squeezes his hand before stepping back to a more decorous distance, still under the parasol.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s all I ask, Master Armand.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With the unpredictability of his life as a soldier Armand is exempt from his duties as a priest, but he is a child of Sehanine and he will always be a child of Sehanine, and after their disastrous mission to Thay he leaves a note in his room at the manor on where to find him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chiara is kind and patient and most importantly doesn’t interrupt when he sits there and avails of her services. She sits and listens, and he lets himself emote or not emote freely for the first time in what feels like months. Outside he is a massive brute who fears nothing and falls to no one in battle, who does nothing to disabuse anyone of that notion. Here he is allowed to be a scared, hurt young man way in over his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrubs his skin raw in the showers. Talks to Chiara. Lets Chiara flog the skin from his back. Takes a walk in the meditation garden. Finally climbs the tallest observation tower, and doesn’t throw himself off, and lets the moon’s light scour his soul clean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He logs himself into the crypt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before they were fully ordained the acolytes were made to spend a night in vigil over their amulet the symbol of Sehanine in prayer, and then a second night in a coffin in the crypt. Falling asleep was allowed, the second night, and there were special provisions for the claustrophobic. Armand has an endless list of things he wants to do, but the thought of somewhere dark and quiet and still to rest when it was all over gave him a certain peace of mind. He logs himself into the crypt and descends those dry echoing steps worn concave by decades of priests, into the darkness lit by cold pale flames. Past the morgue, past the burial chambers. Into the little room with its rows of false sarcophagi with their beautiful latticed lids. Several of them are shut; he gives himself the rites quietly and climbs in, and the lid shuts with a soft click.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the peace of the coffin his body unravels for what feels like the first time in a year, and he thinks of nothing at all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“U-um, Reverend Armand?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Um- Sir Isteval is here to see you and- and I know you probably don’t want to be disturbed and he said he could wait but it’s been an hour and a half and he’s just waiting there and-” it goes on and on. Armand is tempted to shut the lid and make him wait another three hours, but the acolyte looks like he wouldn’t come up to Armand’s waist and like he’ll wet himself besides if he has to spend another minute in the crypt, neither option he deserves. Armand schools his expression into something neutral and pats the acolyte on the head. He squeaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will be right there,” he says. The acolyte nods his head hard and scampers off when Armand gestures dismissal. He sighs and enjoys the quiet for one last moment, and then gets up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve let him sit, at least. Sir Isteval stands up when he sees Armand, relief blooming across his face and he- Armand lets him take his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Master Armand,” he says, all concerned frown and strong fingers. “I heard what happened in Thay. Are you- do you want to talk about it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand actually wants nothing more than to walk straight back down into the crypt into his coffin. The lining must still be warm. (The lining will not still be warm.) He wants Sir Isteval to stop looking at him like that, like he cares. Wants him to go away and worry about his own damn self and the mountain he’s carrying on his back. Wants- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says. “Not here.” Doesn’t want to cause an incident. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the course of their companionship Sir Isteval has proven himself- someone who likes knowing things about people. It pleases him when Armand tells him about things that happened on missions. Sir Isteval takes him to a cafe, telling him about Daggerford as he waits for Armand’s lungs to unlock; his bulk is warm against Armand, Armand’s hand tucked into his arm, and he’s content to lead while Armand’s eyes are unfocused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Evelyn says hello, by the way,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They did not come with you,” Armand says, and Sir Isteval shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re in the city, but I gave them the day off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval gets coffee for both of them, milk and sugar in tow. He places it on the low table in front of Armand and sits beside him, and Armand cradles the warm cup in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval drinks his black. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are a menace to society,” Armand says, and Sir Isteval laughs and lets himself make a face. Armand watches him add milk and sugar, and does the same. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval drinks his coffee, and watches Armand hold the cup, and waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought I was so much better,” Armand says, looking at a point over Sir Isteval’s shoulder. “The priests of Bahamut- they’re so quick to shoot down options. No consorting with demons. Those cultists are beyond redemption. Of course you wouldn’t understand; your morality is- Et cetera, et cetera.” Sir Isteval waits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Church of the Lonely Mother teaches us that the peace of the grave is a sacred thing,” Armand says. “And to desecrate that rest is an abomination. We lay restless spirits to- to rest. We ease the suffering of the dying. We do not </span>
  <em>
    <span>walk into a city served by the undead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, do </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The goddess Sehanine- the rules break for the goddess Sehanine, and her chosen. Anyone I raise from death in service to our cause will live to fight the dragon Tiamat, and then rest again after.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drags his hands through his hair. “Do you know? You would know, if you traveled with us. Agni screams every night. He spends an hour recounting his crime and he screams.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval puts a gentle hand on Armand’s knee. “Armand,” he says, voice soft, and Armand closes his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought I could- could walk into their blighted city. I left my Lady at their gates. I- They asked us, over a meal and wine. What we thought of them and Thay. I held my tongue. I would do anything- I would accept any help in bringing the dragon queen down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We woke up to betrayal and had to be saved by Butler’s Master Nerevar,” he says, face once again too gone for emotion. He had woken up chained in the darkness surrounded by voyeuristic eyes that wanted more than he could give and had never learned to ask, only to take. He had vomited on the floor of their audience hall and it wasn’t a performance of spite. “A wizard who has surpassed lichdom. The man is on the blasted throne, for now. We have the strength of Thay.” The coffee is lukewarm in his hands as it sloshes over the rim, and Sir Isteval takes the cup and wipes the coffee off with careful fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did they hurt you?” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They didn’t need to touch us to hurt us,” he says. And, “I wanted to burn Thay to the ground.” This- does not feel like a safe thing to tell Sir Isteval. He takes Sir Isteval’s hands. Sir Isteval is a man of action and Armand needs him to understand- “We need all the help we can get to take Tiamat down.” Sir Isteval’s handsome mouth twists as he takes this in, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You entered Thay to talk and negotiate,” Sir Isteval says. “And instead they- they paraded their undead in front of you knowing how you felt about it, and then they abducted you while you rested and subjected you to-” he growls a little, squeezing Armand’s hands as Armand shakes his head- “You can’t expect me to let them get away with- If not yourself- and your team, then- what they did to you they did to Waterdeep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tiamat is bigger than this violation.” Armand looks at him and squeezes his hands. “We can carry this after.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to like it.” Armand squeezes his hands again. “Do you want to hear about how I drank </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span> of their lovely wine and then vomited it all over their precious audience chamber floor?” Sir Isteval’s face cycles through several emotions at that, and Armand laughs. Squeezes his hands one last time and lets go to hold his own elbows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You- you went through all that </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk and hungover?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I went through that completely sober, esteemed lord Sir Isteval,” Armand says, pretending loftiness. “The spell Lesser Restoration does wonders.” Sir Isteval smiles and shakes his head, and Armand takes a drink of his now lukewarm coffee. “Thank you,” he says. “I needed this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything I can do to help,” Sir Isteval says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand finishes his drink. Considers him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” he says, “if you still want- it’s a full moon tonight. I- I think there’s at least one observation room free, we can- I can make arrangements for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d love that,” Sir Isteval says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the grace of the Lonely Mother there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a free observation room, and Armand is quick to reserve it for Sir Isteval. He picks him up at the house he’s staying at, Master Evelyn greeting him at the door; they give him a look and then say Sir Isteval will be right down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He appears at the top of the stairs, a hand on the burnished banister, resplendent in black and burgundy. Master Evelyn gestures passing responsibility to Armand, and leaves the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been looking forward to this,” Sir Isteval says, offering his arm, and Armand takes it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s beautiful tonight,” he says. “I mean- she’s beautiful every night. But-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval pats his hand and laughs. “You love her in every form, Master Armand,” he says. “I understand that.” Armand nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walk to the Church of the Lonely Mother is calm and uncontested, the two of them walking along content in the knowledge that they’re the most dangerous people there, Armand a dark figure, Sir Isteval shining despite himself. Finally they turn a corner and there she is, in all her majesty, and Armand takes a moment to drink in the sight of her gleaming in the light. He leads Sir Isteval inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The interior is lit with enough light to go by and no more, and as Armand leads Sir Isteval through the pews past the altar up the stairs he giggles, and Armand chances a glance at him. His eyes sparkle in the shimmering light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Armand says, and he shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Sir Isteval says, voice soft in the gloom. “It just feels like… Like you brought me here for a clandestine rendezvous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More like I’m bringing you to meet my mother,” he says, taking Sir Isteval’s hand to better walk up the steps. “And it would hardly need to be a secret, I think. The priests who speak of you here admire you greatly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand thinks about everything that was said on the mountain and keeps his eyes on the steps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he says, and feels Sir Isteval stumble. Grips his hand harder. Can’t have him falling. “Of course I do.” All his life he’s been the satellite moon to someone’s blazing sun. He knows intimately the shape of admiration and recognizes it in how he looks at Sir Isteval. Recognizes with a stab of guilt that, as before, there’s a thread of envy there as well. It doesn’t become him. They reach the top of the staircase and take a break. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval considers him as Armand leans against the wall, hugging himself, and he presses a hand beside Armand’s head and leans close, and Armand’s breath catches in his throat. Below them, somewhere, the stones of the building carry up the hymns people are singing. Above them, somewhere, the stars wheel across the sky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You admire me even knowing what I’ve done?” he says. Armand shrinks back and Sir Isteval remembers himself and pulls his hand away, and Armand closes his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he says. “Yes. You lost your way and many people paid the cost, and there’s no bringing them back. But you’ve been- you’ve been working hard. You inspire more people. And you’re going to save more people. We have to- the costs we’ve paid for-” Armand takes a breath. “For the future. They can’t- they can’t have been spent needlessly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a tense silence broken only by the sound of their breathing, and then Armand feels Sir Isteval pull back to a more decorous distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Sir Isteval says. “Y- yes. You’re right. I- I’ll try to be worthy of your faith.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand opens his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sir Isteval is standing apart, looking at him, and pulls his eyes up when Armand breathes again. “We should- should go,” Armand says. “There’s another flight of stairs, and then the observation room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Sir Isteval says. Armand offers his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes it, and Armand leads him up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is dominated by a huge window, beyond which is an array of telescopes. There are benches, in the room, and a few shelves of relevant literature. Armand leads him through to the balcony, cautious of the edge. Waterdeep and its harbor lies below them, a mirror of the starry sky above, and Sir Isteval gasps at the view and grips Armand’s hand harder. High up, the moon looks enormous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s beautiful,” he says. “Thank you for this.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand says nothing, and lets him take in her majesty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the first time he’d come up here he’d loved her with a ferocity that had left him breathless even as it had filled him up, and the first time she’d called him her son he’d known he would do anything for her. He still dreams of her voice. Still dreams of that perfect moment, here on this balcony, where she’d called him hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In his darkest nights he wishes the world was still as simple as it was when he was sixteen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” he says eventually, “thinking of that mountain, I will say this.” Sir Isteval turns to look at him and the sight of him, smiling, limned in shining silver, makes Armand’s tongue catch on his words. “I- The- the moon. She’s a lot easier on the eyes than the sun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“W-what?” Sir Isteval says, starting to laugh, and Armand smiles back at him. This is fine. This is safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean,” he says, “you can’t have an observation tower for the sun.” Sir Isteval stares at him, incredulous, grinning, wonderful. He laughs, and shoves Armand gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You,” Sir Isteval says. “We need the sun, Master Armand. We need his light and his warmth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but. Sometimes it’s too bright. Sometimes it’s too hot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes it’s too dark, you know!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand grins at him, bumping Sir Isteval’s shoulder with his. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Some</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us can see in the dark.” Sir Isteval laughs and bumps him back, and it devolves into a shoving match. This is nice. Armand hopes they don’t wake anybody up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They settle, eventually, Sir Isteval with a hand on Armand’s shoulder, and he wipes a tear from his eye. “Thank you,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s my pleasure, Sir Isteval,” he says. He feels- if it was someone from his cloister he’d take their hand and squeeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Master Armand,” Sir Isteval says, taking his hand, eyes twinkling. “I will concede that the moon’s beauty is unparalleled. But- Master Armand, the moon needs the sun to shine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armand stares at him, and stares, and then laughs again and shakes his head, conceding the whole thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be that as it may,” he says, just to have something to say. He bumps Sir Isteval gently, turning to put his hands on the railing. Above them, his lady smiles down at what always might be the last idyllic scene he has. Below them, the city sleeps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Every time I come up here I fall in love with the view more and more,” Armand says, his breath misting as he looks up at the silver coin moon and the stars like scattered diamonds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Sir Isteval says. “I think I could find myself falling in love here.”</span>
</p>
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